Gregory R Lynch Sr.

[Dr. Ivor Yeti]

I found that music was the one arrow that pierced all emotional armor. I had to curate my music carefully for several month. Still get hit by s stray arrow now and then.

It was *very* trippy to be back in Lynch Manor. DM mentioned, and I found this to be true also, that I have clearer memories of Lynch Manor than any other friends house. Upon more reflection, I remember G-Man's house better than some of the ones I've lived in as a kid (we moved every 5 years or so, and there was a lot at home that I don't care to remember, so that may account for it).

[King Bob]

I remember the basement pretty well, since it was the scene of the plate thievery.

[cranefly]

I remember the basement pretty well, since it was the scene of the plate thievery.

You should all be deeply ashamed of yourselves.

Why do I have this memory?  And others?  Never been to the Manor, was never in your circle...

The bunch of you are rewriting my past.

[Drunk Monk]

I found that music was the one arrow that pierced all emotional armor. I had to curate my music carefully for several month. Still get hit by s stray arrow now and then.

I must add that Saturday's playing of Taps was the most poignant rendition I have ever heard.  Kudos for those military reps.  That was very moving.  It was a beautiful ceremony.  

PPFY and I are also a little miffed that you didn't tell us we could bring swords.  And cool hats.  PPFY and I look great with swords and cool hats.  At least we wouldn't look like Russian mafia and Tong representatives at the graveyard.  Greg, your mom, of course, made a point of showing us off to her friends.  I was the guy with that TV show (at least I wasn't Greg Chow) and PPFY was that fine purveyor of sports equipment.

[Dr. Ivor Yeti]

I miss my cool hat. And sword.

At least I got to rent a John Wick car to match my suit. That was OK.

[Greg]

Why didn't we get a picture of the Yeti with his John Wick car? Where were our priorities?

[Drunk Monk]

Yeah, there were prolly a few Instagram-worthy shots with us all suited up in a cemetery with that ride, but it didn't seem appropriate. I'm bummed we didn't get one with scapino & the gargoyle all suited up but it just doesn't feel right taking selfies at funerals.

[Greg]

There is that.

[The Queen]

There is that.

I tried to snap a few shots here and there, but I couldn't do it at the cemetery: I was having a hard time holding it together.

[Dr. Ivor Yeti]

It was a very cool car.

[Greg]

My mother said I looked really sickly at the funeral, because she is supportive that way.

I don't know if you this, DM, but the playing of Taps was a recording. The officer held up a speaker that just looked like a bugle. The military can't afford to have that many buglers in the military. But it was nice just the same.

[Greg]

Here is the speech I gave about my father.

It's much better with tears.

Eulogy for Gregory Lynch 

Father Jo has informed me that I should try and focus on one incident or event in my father’s life. I’m afraid Father Jo that that is not going to happen. Everyone get comfortable. This is going take awhile.

First off, in case you don’t recognize me, my name is Gregory Lynch Jr.  For a long time, around my parents house, I was little Greg, but as you can see I grew out of that. Now, I’m mostly referred to as Greg Jr.

Since I was about 16, phone calls to the house would go something like this:

Hello, Lynch residence.
No, this is his son, Greg jr.

Yes, I sound like my Dad. Call it a blessing or a curse, it was the hand I was dealt. But maybe, just maybe, if you squint just a little you can think it’s Greg Lynch Sr. speaking to you one more time. Although, my father’s least favorite subject would be himself. He was deeply interested in other people and their stories. My father loved to tell stories and today you will get to hear one or two that he might have told through the years.

My father was born in Medford, Massachusetts, He grew up on 2nd Street living on the 2nd level of a three story home. He went to Malden Catholic where he was Captain of the Tennis Team. He was also an avid swimmer, which brings us to story number one.

Near where the Meadow Glen mall sits today in Medford, there used to be a great albeit dangerous swimming hole. My father was forbidden to swim there by his father. Which of course meant, my father spent a lot of time swimming there.

One day after a swim, my father noticed a young boy had fallen into the swimming hole and was starting to drown. My father jumped and dragged the boy to safety. Job well done. He returned home and went upstairs to change. When he came down, his father asked him if he had gone to the swimming hole where he was forbidden to go. Of course not, my father replied. Then could you explain to me why these people came by to thank you for saving their son from the swimming hole you weren’t at?

This story was always good for us kids because it showed us that maybe our dad wasn’t quite  the straight arrow he seemed to be.

Another important story involved my father going to a science fair. Even at this age, he was already pursuing his career as his Chemist. The science fair was a complete disaster. He came in second. To some girl. And as these stories usually go, that girl was my mother, Audry Lynch

My father earned his BS Degree in Chemistry from Tufts college. For my entire school career I was dressed in T-Shirts from Tufts, emblazoned with Jumbo the elephant. This of course led to the frequent question at school ‘What the heck is Tufts? Like tufts of hair’

He got his Master from Canisius and did some course work at MIT’s Sloan school of business. One of his first jobs was with Carter’s Ink where he developed a carbon paper that would never wear out. It was never marketed because the process introduced a slight curl to the paper that the marketing people deemed sightly. Now, I don’t know if the never wear out claim was true, but I do know we had samples of that paper in our house for years. It always worked. Kids, come up to me later and I will explain what carbon paper is to you.

My father loved to ski in the White Mountains of New Hampshire. He did not love to ski with his less than proficient five year old son. I have two distinct memories from our ski trips together. In one, I am dangling about twelve feet off the ground from the chair lift. As usual my entry onto the chair lift was bad. I did not get onto the seat rather I got hit in the back by the chair lift. My father grabbed the hood of my ski jacket as the chair ascended in attempt to pull me on the chair. The Chair lift operator stopped the lift leaving us in the tableaux I mentioned, my father holding my hood as I dangled in the air.

Dismounts from the Chair lift were equally problematic. On one occasion, I left the lift completely out of control and went straight down a black diamond slope. I still imagine my father making a deep sigh right before he made his way down the difficult slope to rescue me.

In 1970, my father got a job offer with the Memorex corporation where he was instrumental in helping launch their consumer cassettes division. If you remember the ad campaign during the seventies, about ‘Is it live or is Memorex’ well my father was there for that.

I think the job that gave him the greatest satisfaction was working for the Verbatim Corporation. He was put in charge of setting up their manufacturing operations in Europe, which meant relocating to the west coast of Ireland for five years.

Now, Lynch is a fine Irish name and we are Irish on both sides of family. Greg and Audry’s parents were Irish and their parents were Irish, etc etc. So, going to Ireland was homecoming of sorts.

The base of operations for Verbatim Ltd was Limerick which if we are to believe our family history was not far from where the Lynch clan originated in the town of Balyagran. Truth be told, there are two Ballyagrans in Ireland and we decided the one closest to Limerick would be the home of the Lynch clan.

At this time, both of my sisters, Roberta and Stephanie were established in their adult lives. Stephanie was married for which my father threw a party that they still talk about on Meadow Oak Rd. And Roberta was off to college. I was still in High School, so I was lucky enough to go with my father and live in Limerick for my final two years of High School. At the time, I hated the idea of going but I didn’t have much choice.

I have to thank my father for two things. One, he sent me to the only co-ed High School in town so at least I got to go to school with girls. And, probably more importantly, he gave me my first job as professional photographer. At a previous Christmas, he bought me my first photo kit, a Minolta SRT 201 with two lenses. But when I went to Limerick, he set me up with a darkroom and put me to work taking photographs of all the events at the plant. He also tasked me to ride out weekly on my bike to take photos of the construction of the new buildings for Verbatim.

Over the course of the next two years, I took a lot of crappy photographs for Verbatim, ltd. But it showed that I could take photographs and that was the start that brought me to where I am today, a man with far more camera equipment than sense.

My father also took on my education as a side-project. He got it into his head that he would give me an obscure word and I like a good son would go find the definition of that word. His first word was Torque. Unfortunately, it was also the last word in his education of Greg project. I was a teenager and had no interest in looking up dumb words like torque.

But all summer, he would continue to ask me and I would continue to tell him I was working on it. As the years would go by he would stop the conversation and ask me if I knew what torque was. I don’t think I ever gave him a satisfactory answer to the question of what was the definition of torque.

But that was the key to my Dad. He wanted to help people be better. He felt better if the people around him were doing better. It was a source of pride to him that his two daughters chose careers where they helped others. Stephanie is a nurse and Roberta is an ESL High School teacher.

My father was one of those guys who firmly believed that a leader surrounds himself with the best people and then let them go about their jobs. If you came to him and said you wanted more responsibility, he gave you more responsibility. If you were asking for it, he felt you were ready for it.

His management style proved very successful in Ireland. He was given a year to have the Limerick plant be profitable. He reached that goal in six months. By the time he was done, Verbatim Ltd was producing the lion’s share of the profits for the Verbatim corporation.

My father loved the Irish society even more. He fell in love with Hurling. He had his own local out in Parteen. He joined the Limerick Lawn and Tennis club. I swear everywhere we traveled in Ireland people knew him. We’d be in the most remote spots in Irelands, one pub towns far from the motorway and there would be somebody asking if he was Greg Lynch from Verbatim. Yes, that’s how they say Verbatim in Ireland, Verbatim.

Story break. South of Limerick there is a little town called Kilorgin. In Kilorgin they hold the longest continuously held festival in Europe. It’s been held for over a 1000 years. Basically, it’s a horse trading festival. But the highlight is they crown a goat king and they worship him for 3 days. Also during those three days, the don’t close the pubs. If you had been to Ireland, you would know how important that is.

So, my father goes into a pub and sits down for a jar. This old codger from out on the farms comes in and sits down beside my Dad. The man turns to my father and in brogue thick as cream says “Is it true the pubs will be open for three days straight” My father looks at him and says “I believe so" “Well, jeez, I don’t think I can’t sit here that long’

My father loved Ireland. And for the next forty years, it was his favorite travel destination. If you said you were thinking about traveling to Ireland, he would say “Let’s Go” If he could have bought this home he had his eye on up in Castletroy, he might be there still.

Verbatim didn't really have a spot for him when he finished up in Ireland, so they parted ways. He started his own Floppy Disk company called Memron. Kids come up to me later, I explain Floppy Discs to you. He also did a lot of consulting work where he showed people in Saudi Arabia and India how to build Floppy Disc plants.

I’d like to say he retired, but not really. He seemed to work harder than ever in retirement. Yes, he joined the Sons in Retirement and played a lot of golf and did the rounds of poker tournaments. He played a  ton of cribbage that used to meet over the Saratoga Lanes Bowling Alley. And he was thrilled when he learned you could play cribbage with people around the world online.

He was also the first typist for many of my mother’s books. And let’s be clear, typing was not one of the skills that he ever picked up so it probably took a bit longer.

But I would call him and all I would hear was about the hundreds of emails he had to answer every day.  Most of those emails had to do with Serra International, a catholic organization devoted to vocations. To clarify, Serra International’s mission statement was to help young men join the priesthood and then support those priests any way they could.

The organization took as it’s figurehead Father Junipero Serra, a Spanish Priest from Majorca who founded 11 of the California missions.

As usual my father couldn’t just stand by and watch, he had to lead. He had to straighten them out, as he used to say. St. Serra was having a birthday in 2013 and it was my father’s goal to celebrate that birthday where Serra was born in Petra, Majorca.

To that end, my father became president of United States Council of so his voice could be heard loud and clear when that decision was made. And in the summer of 2013, the International Convention for Serra was held on the Island of Majorca. Naturally, my father took the entire family with him to celebrate.

My father also had one other great moment with Serra. When Pope Francis was elevated one of the first things he did was to canonize, Father Serra turning my father’s favorite priest, no offense Father Jo, into St. Serra.

In 2015, Pope Francis traveled to the United States. The Pope planned to hold a mass in Washington, DC in St. Serra’s honor and to make the canonization official. My father had to be there.

By this time, my father and mother had foresworn air travel. Their legs weren’t the best. They both had multiple infirmities that made flying a pain for them. And when I say they foreswore air travel, I mean they cut it back to only one, maybe two trips a year.

Because of my flexible schedule, I went with with him to DC to see the Pope. It was an arduous journey to get to the mass. Our bus dropped  us off a mile from the National Cathedral. We had to wait for what seemed like forever to get through the security check points. It was also unseasonably hot for that September day, well into the 80s. My father had to take frequent stops along the way as we walked to our seats. 

I had my camera with me, as usual. I was taking photos of my dad so he could share it with his friends on Facebook. He would always get a kick out of his friends seeing him on Facebook. But in his pictures he always had that small sort of half-smile. The smile that said he was only tolerating the photographer annoying him.

But during the mass, where Father Serra became Saint Serra, I snapped a picture of my father. He has the biggest happiest grin on his face. I’ve never seen him smile so broadly. He reveled in the moment that his priest was canonized.

He was supposed to meet Pope Francis again this summer. Serra International  was holding their convention in Rome. It included a mass in the Vatican and a private audience with the Holy Father. Because my father was a past president, he was going to have the honor of actually shaking hands with Pope Francis.

My sister Roberta and I were volunteered to shepherd my father and mother to Rome. Their ability to fly has not gotten any better since Washington, but their desire to travel is as strong as ever.

But before I go on, I need to mention my sister Roberta for just a second. For the past few years my parents have needed a lot of help just to survive. And that burden has fallen on my sister, Roberta. She’s done the Herculean task of keeping them going. She does their shopping. She has Sunday trash duty. I don’t know how many times I’ve called her as she is on her way to do their laundry. For many years, she had to go over nightly to help dress a surgical wound on my dad that never healed properly, probably as a result of his diabetes. She is usually at the house before the first responders. 

During the last few months, she has had to go the emergency room multiple times. She has the ER routines down cold. I think with one more visit, she is entitled to a free colonoscopy. I think my father’s greatest legacy to Roberta was the gift of his compassion. Everyone knows that Roberta is the nice one. The reason my father was able to live his life to the end at his own home was due largely to the efforts of Roberta. And I thank her for that.

My mother, of course also helped with my father towards the end, making sure he went to his doctor’s appointments and nagged him about using his walker. 

To be honest, I have to admit that there’s was a contentious relationship. But what can you expect when you have two very strong willed people in one household. He was once asked why did he stay with my mother if it was so tempestuous. First and foremost, he said, he loved my mother, simple as that. 

Secondly, he stood before his friends and family in the house of God and promised he would love, honor and cherish my mother until death do us part. And my father did not break his promises.

Before they went to Rome, my parents decided to stop in Seattle, WA. They wanted to see their favorite great-granddaughter, Jasmyne graduate from High School. It was an opportunity to celebrate Stephanie’s 60th birthday and Roberta’s son, Zachary’s birthday. 

Zachary’s relationship to my father was very interesting. Since Zachary’s father was out of the picture, my father stepped in to do what he could to fill that roll. My father must have done a good job since Zachary never referred to him as granddad or papa. To him, my father was Dad.

It was also a chance to see their favorite granddaughter Jenelle, who’s stock had risen inestimably because she also brought into the world my parents favorite great-grandson, Jordan.

My father had a full schedule up in Marysville. And I thought it was madness. He was barely strong enough to travel to Rome let alone an additional flight to Washington. It was like talking to a tree to convince him to skip that leg and just go to Rome.

Unfortunately, that trip did prove too arduous. He did celebrate with the family the birthdays and the graduation, but he wound up in the hospital with kidney failure, heart failure and pneumonia. The doctors forbid him to fly. He had to cancel the trip to Rome for his meeting with the pope.

Me, I was mad. It was an opportunity of a lifetime, maybe the last opportunity. And he didn’t get to do it.

But the more I thought about it, the more I realized that if my father knew he was making a choice between being with his family and meeting the Pope, he would have chose family every time. Because that was important.

Earlier I said that the biggest smile I had ever seen in a picture was of my father attending the St. Serra mass, well that might not be quite accurate. I’m thinking the picture of my father with his great-grandson Jordan on his knee after Jordan’s christening was just a bit bigger.

My father arrived home from Washington on July 3. I came up to spell my sister the following  Friday who needed a break from hospital visits. 

My sick father, of course, had to pick me up from the airport. He was aghast that I would even think of taking a taxi. Things seemed pretty typical with him. We fought about driving. My father wanted me to solve the mystery of the missing doorbell that had been going on for about a year.

He had a few missteps on Saturday and Sunday that necessitated calling the EMT’s, but we figured we had it straightened out by Sunday afternoon. He spent the day watching Wimbledon in the morning and his favorite TV show, Sixty minutes, that night. My mother told me he was especially happy to see that I had changed the sheets and made the bed. He liked sleeping on fresh sheets.

I was supposed to wake him for a doctors appointment around nine on Monday. My mother tried to wake him first, but she couldn’t. I came up to try  and get him up but, when I touched him, he was cold. 

The Paramedics were called, But there was nothing they could do by they time they arrived.

During the last years of his life, my father suffered from a lot of maladies. He was uncomfortable from a variety pains from his feet to his neck. I liken it to a professional athlete who is nicked up from a long career and decides to retire. That he had had enough. Sometime, late Sunday night or early morning, my father lay down the burden of this life and moved on to the next. Knowing him, he’s busy volunteering for one job or another or maybe even tracking down St. Serra to have a conversation with his favorite priest. Again Father Jo, no offense

Down here, we are just left with the memories of what a kind and caring man he was. I’m know I’m going to miss that big booming voice yelling up and down the house for me to come help him. And right now, I wouldn’t mind hearing that call one more time.

Oh, and one more thing, the definition of torque is as follows The tendency of a force applied to an object to make it rotate about an axis. For a force applied at a single point, the magnitude of the torque is equal to the magnitude of the force multiplied by the distance from its point of application to an axis of rotation.

Goodbye, Dad, we’re going to miss you.

[Drunk Monk]

I don't know if you this, DM, but the playing of Taps was a recording. The officer held up a speaker that just looked like a bugle. The military can't afford to have that many buglers in the military. But it was nice just the same.

Oh crap, srsly?  Totally had me fooled.  I couldn't see the performance because a big ol' shaved yeti blocked my view.  Or was it Russian mafia in a John Wick car?  Actually, no, I just couldn't see.  

Thanks for sharing your eulogy. It's really beautiful. I"m sorry I missed your delivery of it, but I'm sure there wasn't a dry eye in the house.  I get misty just reading it.

[cranefly]

Very nice.  Very moving.
Thanks for sharing.

[Greg]

Well, there is a recording of it, too.......